Mark Raymond was born in the early morning hours of Christmas. I cringe when I think about the blessings we would have missed without him.
I continued to work full-time at Cockle, where the learning curve was steep. But I was picking up computer skills more quickly than anyone, myself included, had imagined. The one thing I came to the job with was eight years of studying the Supreme Court, and that came in handy when I had to speak with clients. I could at least talk shop.
Some briefs were prepared by big law firms and others by law professors at top schools. The one lesson that seemed almost universal was that the more competent the lawyer, the more he or she listened to advice.
I was able to work on some of the most vexing issues to face the Supreme Court. One in particular was a case called Citizens United. At issue was whether corporate spending in support of political candidates is protected by the First Amendment. The case originated because a conservative interest group wanted to run a movie disparaging Senator Hillary Clinton.
Citizens United turned out to be a momentous and controversial ruling. The Court overturned several of its prior decisions and declared that corporations are to be treated like individuals, and thus they are entitled to First Amendment protections.
I also had the opportunity to work on an interesting case involving the Confrontation Clause. That portion of the Constitution requires that before the prosecution can use testimonial evidence, such as statements made by a witness to the police, the prosecution must bring forth the witness so the accused can confront him or her through the crucible of cross-examination.
The counsel of record in this case was a well-known Confrontation Clause scholar, Rich Friedman, from the University of Michigan Law School.
One day I told Rich that I had followed one of his prior cases and he asked why.
“Let’s just say I have an interest in criminal law cases.”
A couple months later when Rich had another brief, we talked about the merits of the case for twenty minutes. I think the ladies at Cockle were somewhat concerned that I was discussing legal doctrine with one of the clients.
“Are you an attorney, Shon?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“Then why do you know about the Confrontation Clause? It’s not something people choose to study.”
“It’s complicated. I will tell you the story in an e-mail.”
The next weekend I spent an hour writing an e-mail to Rich. I was worried he would read it, realize that he was entrusting his Supreme Court briefs to a former convict, panic, and call the Cockles demanding that I no longer work on his cases. Despite the concerns, I felt compelled to tell him, like I was meant to tell this guy my story. So I did.
Rich, to his credit, didn’t panic over the e-mail; instead we became friends. Two months later Adam Liptak at the New York Times contacted Rich asking questions about the case he had just argued before the Supreme Court. Rich e-mailed him back and after discussing the case, he broached a different subject.
I wonder if you know the name Shon Hopwood. He works at Cockle. I’d never dealt with him before this case, but I have found him unusually engaged in the subject matter. Turns out until he joined Cockle about a year ago, he served 10½ years in federal prison, during which he wrote a successful cert petition, Fellers v. United States, argued successfully by Seth Waxman. He just sent me another cert petition, on which he claimed to be the principal author, and it was a very professional job; apparently he has a string of appellate cases on which he’s worked successfully. He’s married, kid on the way, trying to finish up a college degree and go to law school. Thought you might be interested.
I don’t think Adam Liptak believed that some guy just removed from a decade-long prison sentence was working for a Supreme Court brief printer and had prepared two cases that had been granted by the Court.
Who would believe such a story?
Adam interviewed me, and on February 8, 2010, the story ran: “A Mediocre Criminal, but an Unmatched Jailhouse Lawyer.” Soon I was doing radio and television interviews, and agents were calling from Los Angeles and New York. Annie and I were just learning how to take care of a newborn, and between the lack of sleep and the media barrage, we were overwhelmed.
I answered every single one of the hundreds of e-mails that flooded into Cockle Law Brief Printing Company. Many were from former prisoners and from parents whose kids had done something bad when they were young. To both groups, my story represented some hope, which made me feel good.
But there was some negative reaction. Some of the people I’d robbed were upset that I was receiving publicity and that I seemed to be moving into a successful life. I called the people who’d been quoted in the local paper and those who later wrote me at Cockle. It wasn’t easy, and I was sick after each call, but I knew it was something I had to do. To make amends. The personal apologies were long overdue.
I can never take back what I did to the people in those banks. I can only say I am sorry. My hope is that they will see that the immature guy from over a decade ago has long been buried.
Not everyone, unfortunately, makes a decision to change, either because they can’t or because circumstances drive them back into the old life. A week after the Times story, a local television station interviewed me. Annie and I expected the story to run on a Friday night. While watching the news that night we listened to a story about a guy who had been out of prison for only nine months and had already robbed a bank and been sentenced to seven more years of prison. When they showed his picture, I recognized the guy. He was the one who had been begging the halfway house staff to lend him a ride for a job interview.
Around two-thirds of federal prisoners are re-arrested within three years of release. Dropped into a recession with few resources and no job skills, most don’t stand a chance. That could easily have been me. I thanked God that night for the blessings he had given me.
Annie and I were guests at Harvard University in the spring of 2010. We spent a day walking down the cobblestone streets of Harvard Square, not quite believing where we were. Annie is a stellar student, having just finished her master’s in counseling with a 4.0, so this kind of place was right for her. But I felt out of place, for sure.
I was to speak at Harvard Memorial Church and then Lowell House, an undergraduate dorm that has housed Justices Harry Blackmun and David Souter, stars Matt Damon and Natalie Portman, and countless others. I was also set to meet Seth and Noah for the first time in person.
We met at an old restaurant just off Harvard Square. Seth was as charming as I had imagined. When we spoke to a group of students that evening, he graciously deferred questions to me. No wonder the Court likes him.
Noah and I had talked so many times on the phone about the law and our families that he felt like a long-lost brother. We embraced like brothers.
Noah had been a constant presence in my life, even after the Fellers case had ended. His friendship led me to believe in myself, to believe that I could find success in the law. When you’ve done something terrible and you’re at the bottom, a little encouragement goes a long way.
Seth and Noah, in their generosity of spirit, had opened a new life for my family and me, and had helped make possible some happiness for my father before his death.
Before we left Boston, Seth and Noah encouraged me to apply to law school. It was the obvious next thing, although it was not a “for sure” thing, given my background.
Start studying for the LSAT, they told me. It was already on my calendar.
Another winter settled over the Great Plains: so much snow to slush through, so much ice not to slip on, so much cold to bundle against. Then the sun started to come back. We were a little family now, and Mark was walking. He already had a rebellious streak, which I attribute to his mother. Okay, a small part of it may come from me!
In addition to my work with Cockle, I was writing briefs on prison cases with a local attorney. I also started a newsletter that we would send to federal and state
prisons, so prisoners could see changes in the law that might help them. Annie helped me produce the newsletter and, in the process, she’s become a legal researcher. I set up a crew of some of the best lawyers in the country who agreed to take some prisoner cases pro bono, and created, for Cockle, a legal blog called The Cockle-Bur. So we weren’t just sitting around waiting for spring.
Although I was out of prison, my mind was often there. I thought about my boys back at Pekin. I tend to think about them on Sunday mornings when I’m at church. I think it’s because church reminds me to be thankful, which reminds me of where I came from.
I wondered what they were doing on this day. They probably woke up late, as most do on Sunday mornings, before wandering out to the rec yard for a workout. I wondered if they were thinking past the present and to the day when they would be let go. The ones who do better are the ones who prepare each day for their eventual release.
I also thought about Bobbie, because I had received a phone call from him the day before. He had been in a yearlong in-patient drug treatment program, which was his last chance before the probation office sent him back to prison because of his drug and alcohol addictions.
“Hop-woood, what’s happening?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, Bobbie.” Bobbie had missed my son being born, the Times article, the speaking engagements, and my spiritual decision. I told him about it all.
I tried to encourage him, oh, I tried. But a month later I learned that he had violated parole and was headed back to prison—for two whole years.
I prayed for Bobbie and my boys at Pekin as Pastor Mark Ashton preached.
“And for some of you, today is the day that you need to say yes to God. You’re the one. And God says you need to be gutsy, you need to stand up. You need to be willing to say yes to me whatever the cost is. In private, or in public, I am not someone you should be ashamed of. So what is the appropriate response?”
The appropriate response was to be baptized, which I had wanted to do for some time. But I was waiting for Annie to come to the same decision so we could do it together. And I didn’t want to pressure her.
I think she was frightened about making a public announcement of her faith. She is shy about most things, so naturally that includes her faith.
“Is that Marty standing over there?” she asked.
There were several volunteers standing next to a tub of water. Each was holding sweat clothes and towels for the people being baptized. It was indeed Marty Barnhart. Out of 3,000 people who attend Christ Community Church, it just happened to be Marty helping on that morning.
Was it sign? I don’t know. But it sure looked like a good opportunity.
I looked at Annie. “So what do you want to do?”
She didn’t answer.
So I started praying. When I was finished I said, “Well, we can do it another—”
Annie was gone. She had dropped her purse and coat on the chair. She was walking with her head high past the congregation.
We were baptized that Sunday morning. We held hands as Marty baptized Annie and Pastor Mark baptized me. It was another one of those game-changing moments that seems to accompany my life.
A few weeks after our baptism, God decided to throw us another challenge.
In early January of 2011 I received an e-mail from my wife. I was working at Cockle, talking on the phone with an attorney, when I opened the e-mail. The subject line read, “Hmmmmmm …” The e-mail had a picture of three pregnancy tests saying:
“Yes.”
“Positive.”
“Pregnant.”
The e-mail said:
I am scared out of my mind only about things unknown, but yet I feel peace that God knows I/We can handle this and that if this pregnancy would go full-term that it would be another one of His amazing blessings in our lives.
I told the attorney that I would need to call him back. At least I think I told him that!
We had talked about having another baby, but the timing didn’t seem right; I was hoping to start law school that fall.
“Son, there is no convenient time to have a baby,” my mother said, congratulating us. She was looking forward to another grandchild.
So we would have two young children while I attended law school. It couldn’t be that hard.
A few months later Dr. Mark told us we were having a baby girl. God has given us so much grace that the name was easy to pick. Grace Ann Hopwood. But to us—just Gracie.
Losing a case bothers me as much today as it did in prison. I become friends with the people I help. I hate the word “clients,” as if the law has to be some kind of unattached profession.
I have never been able to place my name on the cover of a brief, even the briefs I wrote in prison. Because I am not a lawyer, my friends in there filed the briefs with their name placed on the front. Even now when I write a brief with an attorney my name is never mentioned.
I often dream what it will be like to place my name on the cover of a brief. If that happens, what will it represent to me? What will it represent to everyone who made a mistake but was given a second chance? I don’t know. I can tell you one thing: it will be an honor, because the law is an honorable thing.
And the Supreme Court is an honorable place. I learned what I already instinctively knew on a cloudy spring day. Annie and I had always wanted to visit the Supreme Court, and it worked out so we could do that on a day when Seth was arguing a case.
As we neared the Court I squeezed Annie’s hand a little harder. I find it difficult for certain moments to live up to the expectations built up in my mind. For eleven years I had dreamed of visiting the Supreme Court, dreamed of walking up the steps to the great white marble pillars.
We entered the building and headed to the Clerk’s office. Through Cockle I regularly speak on the phone with the Clerk’s office—a wonderful group of incredibly competent people who run the day-to-day operations of the Court. I am usually asking them about the application of the Court’s rules to a particular case that we are preparing. So I wanted to stop by their office and say hello in person.
Annie and I were waiting for one of the clerks to arrive when Annie said, “Oh, my gosh, it is great to see you again.”
I turned around and Seth was standing there, smiling.
“And why wouldn’t I see Shon in the Clerk’s office?” he said.
We watched him argue a case that day, and he was masterful. I was surprised about how small the courtroom is and how close the arguing attorneys are to the justices. It truly is an intimate setting.
We exited the building that day in awe. On the front of the Supreme Court there is a famous inscription: EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW.
The Court has certainly treated me equally. It has granted petitions that I have written, and handed down fair decisions that tangibly affected my life, both in prison and out. It is the Court that has literally changed my life.
Applying for law school is not easy. You study for the LSAT in between full-time jobs, and you proofread law school applications until you fall asleep on top of your computer and your wife or your son wakes you. You place way too much pressure on yourself and at times you think, why bother? But you do it, then you take the test and you send in the applications and, like too much in life, you wait.
I wondered if the admissions people just laughed when they read the bank robbery part. I could imagine them looking at it twice, then looking at the stack of young applicants with 4.0 GPAs and ridiculously high LSAT scores, and then dropping my application into the reject pile. When I could see it clearly like that, I just felt stupid for wasting my time and theirs. And from there I started to think I was pretty stupid for believing I was going to get in.
Then the rejection letters began to arrive in business-sized envelopes with a single sheet of paper neatly folded inside.
Annie tried to make me feel, well, less rejected. I felt like an idiot.
My letters of recommendation from Seth and Noah and Rich pro
bably would have nudged me ahead of the competition if I were in that pack of upstanding young applicants with strong academic credentials. But I was a convicted bank robber, and there is just no letter that would fix that. I could see that now—that I had been delusional.
Besides, I was responsible for a growing family, and I didn’t have a way to pay for law school even if I were accepted. Oh sure, I could borrow us into a hole for tuition and books. But what about living expenses? I had been living in a fantasyland.
“Did you order something from the University of Washington?” Annie asked. She was holding an envelope that looked like it contained a big brief.
I bolted across the room.
“I got in!”
I ripped it open. The University of Washington School of Law, one of the top law schools in the country, was sending me the big packet.
Instead of “we regret to inform you …” the letter started with “Congratulations.”
I kept looking to see if in my distress I had mistaken some subscription offer for a law school acceptance. It looked like the real thing. It was.
My dream of attending law school—a fantasy created and driven by Annie when we first started our friendship—was now a reality. And we would be going to Seattle! What a great place for Annie, because of her love of hiking and the outdoors, and what a great place for our children to grow up. It’s such a vibrant community.
I e-mailed Eric Schnapper right away. He is a Cockle client who teaches at the UW School of Law and takes employment law cases headed for the Supreme Court.
After he had read the Times article, he had encouraged me to apply there. He deserved my thanks and more.
There was still the issue of money. I didn’t know how I was going to swing it. I didn’t think they would give a loan to a bank robber.
I had learned about a UW program where the Gates Program underwrites law school for students who agree to serve in public interest jobs for five years after graduation.
Law Man: My Story of Robbing Banks, Winning Supreme Court Cases, and Finding Redemption Page 22